Paragon
by Ta-dah
Summary: At times, people you love the most, hurt you the most. You still love them.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I own_ nothing_. Maybe just a plot, but even this I cannot be sure! (Remember, children, plagiarizing is** bad**!)

**AN: **Dedicated to my soul mate, whom I haven't seen for _**so**_ long, and who, by having the same annoying traits, frustrates me so!

Also, to KG fan, sutaru mitsumi, _Bananawings72_, tadah! (hehe), fan-rei, nerian, restin and Lumier. Thank you guys! I don't really want to continue 'Whatsername', but similar fics may appear somewhen.

_Paragon_

by

Ta-dah!

You sure have a person who influenced your life the most, changed it diametrically, spun you around by 180 so afterwards you were dizzy and images your eyes perceived were blurry, but your mind knew clearly from then on. Whenever you muse about a certain individual, it is accompanied by a tinge of tenderness touching your bare soul and a silvery gold gleam in your eyes. It is indifferent to you whether their teeth are pearly white, the voice is gentle or raspy, and hair are smooth, even though it was long ago said by specialists that looks are immensely important to our view of people.

This person is _perfect_.

_Everything_ you want to be.

The ringing sound of a laugh that you wish you could let out, is there.

That unconstrained carelessness that that person seems to be a personification.

The dazzling smile that awakes empathy and understanding, the kind of a smile you could not produce before meeting them.

And yet, they are everything you want to protect, envelope in crushing, comforting, warm as if it was by a woollen scarf - made by a grandmother you never had anyway – hug, close in a golden bird cage, and that knowledge is heart-rending to you at times like this.

At times when you see that person right before you, that is.

Sits right there, only about 4 meters away, as your ever-analytic mind unconsciously scrutinized. You see a delicate hand resting on a polished wooden desk, twirling between fingers a paper card, golden locks flowing freely around her face, as she shakes her head, with a smile on her thin, erotic lips – so innocent, word both suitable and scandalously inappropriate when used in connection with her.

And you get nervous – your palms begin to sweat and your hands start shaking – that damnable habit of yours, now the only thing giving away your weaknesses.

Your heart starts pounding boomingly in your chest. You can literally _feel_ the blush creeping up to your face.

_Damn!_

Standing there, scared like hell, like you've never been – because in everyday life you're persistent, courageous, persuasive, quick-thinking, or so you've heard.

And quick-thinking you are, disappearing as if you've suddenly covered yourself with Invisibility Cloak, like a ghost on a night spent alone.

You waited for this for such a long time, every one of your doings have been done with the purpose clear in your head – to be worthy of her attention later on.

BUT she is exceptionally brave.

And YOU are now cowardly facing the mirror in men's loo. You are furious with yourself, clenching and unclenching your fists.

You take a few deep calming breaths and look around – it has become a habit since today, at the age of 25, (which, in your case, cannot be described in any way as tender) your essential ability is to take notice of your surroundings. Otherwise, you would be dead by now; times are dangerous, even though officially peaceful and serene.

The restroom is elegant, a weird term to describe the mien of men's loo. It is empty, but even if it was crowded, it would seem empty, nonetheless – the place is huge. The floor is marble, smooth and lubricious, and walls are covered with simple mirrors. It is sparkling clean, and _neutral. _Too neutral. You are used to such rooms, but it is definitely not what you wanted to see at a significant time like this, when everything will be eternally printed onto your memory.

'Face it' – the deep voice of yours, that has women swooning, now seems to be shaking. – 'You cannot do this. It's useless.'

A pause.

You smirk, knowing that if there was any observer right now, he would report you as a crazy maniac raging in the restroom. You look in your reflection. _Pathetic._

'No! You _have to. _You **must.** You have achieved so much. United clans… Remember the most eligible bachelor? It's you, you **imbecile**.'

But it does not seem to work, and your voice resounding in this deserted room weakens. You take a deep breath again, and try to calm yourself by filling your chest with life-giving oxygen.

With painfully slow movement reaching the silvery faucet and touching the steely cool, you twist it. Without stretching to check over with the tips of your fingers the crystal water, you, without hesitation, dip your hands into shockingly cold liquid and, quickly as a flash, cover your burning face with millions of droplets. Soon, there is no trace of them on your sun kissed face.

You move your right hand, and deliberately unfold fragile, handmade watch. It shows 13:26.

You muster all your courage, and, feeling hot and dizzy, exit, gently pushing the door.

The bubbling whirls in your stomach are being pushed up your pharynx.

It feels like ages, walking steadily this spacious hall and ignoring flirtatious smiles and amazed looks you are given, emanating wealth and self-esteem.

It's no wonder; you are famous, after all.

Ages? Millennia. Eons.

The sound of your expensive shoes tapping on flooring echoes, and you look straight in the eye of your beholder.

You see, as if the movement is slowed, recognizing flaming up in her amber eyes.

'How can I help you, sir?'- A gentle voice of her companion awakes your mind from a hazy nap, and you ignore her.

'Éclair, long time no see, do you think you are able to have a coffee with me?' Your lips form a shy smile.

She firstly blushes profusely, and then smiles back a mischievous roguish smile.

'Why not? What about 3 p.m.? I have a break then. And yes, too true, I haven't seen you **_in ages_,** Tim.'

**AN: **The idea came to me somewhere between Chemistry and Geography, when I was close to falling asleep. So, what do you think? Every review is valued.

Damn, I'm even too tired to make some witty comment.

I wish you a happy life!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it. Don't even _want_ to own it. Unfortunately, among all things I got to own now are pledgets (is it the right word? Do I even care?) I got on my Christmas. I am still laughing.

I mean, I've always dreamt of _that…_

**AN: **It's been a month or so, hasn't it? I could've updated earlier but:

1). I was too lazy…

2). Presents. I mean – _presents_? Twelve of them. And after I'd bought them, I've been too tired and lazy…

3). Important people to meet. Important works to write by 6th of January (still not written…)

You wanted it longer, Nerian? You have it. Still working on length.

When mother is screaming behind my back to get off the computer because I am wasting her money, it's harder, though.

And complex! WHY? Well, yes, some, but everyone has them! And life does sucks. It has some moments though.

Young and handsome, you say?

And thanks to all the reviewers (all 4 of them, ehehe; Karie, Liuda&Gaster…You, M., don't matter :).

And while it's not a blackmail of any sort, because sooner or later **I'm **going to update, when I get more answers – whether it's praise or critic (because I want to improve!) – I am more motivated to do it sooner.

Dedicated to – you!

_A Girl Who Touched Me_

By

Ta-dah!

**2:15 p.m**.

Clattering.

He could hear it as clearly as chatting, giggling, scratching, tapping, coughing, whispering and furtive kissing. He was becoming weary of it, honestly. This was the main reason _why_ he could not focus on his extremely important task he brought with him, he tried to convince himself fruitlessly. Why shouldn't he? Being quite foreseeing, he knew his next hours would be spend by sitting, staring blankly at the wall and being all nervous and sweat. So the most logical move was to bring his work with him, a _joyful_ _distraction_ it was.

He cancelled all of the appointments for today - the Prime Minister of Perun could certainly wait.

The intricate road of petite writing was trailing through elaborately rough paper, so that his calloused fingertips were getting dry and he was forced to bring them to his lips occasionally, and the look in his eyes was becoming more far away every minute. Even the smell of pretentious (oh, so okay, it wasn't exactly pretentious, it was feminine and intoxicating, but it was giving him a blasted headache _right now_, and he much preferred flowery whiffing scent than this) was infuriatingly transparent to him now.

He took a sip from his cup of black coffee, feeling hot liquid circulating in his insides – he savored this state, being aware of the movement of fluid inside his body – it was inexplicably reassuring and pleasant.

_**But not now. **_

He sighed and shuffled with the papers.

It was their fault he couldn't bring himself to pay attention to his work, doubtlessly!

**2:30 p.m.**

He rubbed his eyes violently, feeling hot prickles wash over them, along with relaxing sensation, and looked up from his, stone-cold now, coffee, raising his lithe arm to call the waitress.

Smiling (she tended to close her eyes when she did that, so he was quite afraid of the future of his coffee in her palms), she walked up, with a clank set porcelain cup of godly beverage, and calmly walked off, already giving him her _'Associating With a Customer'_ talk during his first order and no further attempt was shown. Though, he liked her enough - she had many sterling qualities – was rather pretty, had nice soft throaty voice and was oblivious to his position in business world, furthermore – hadn't shown an _ounce_ of interest in his marital status!

He looked longingly at massive glass doors from his place, sheathed deep inside this cozy café. He was seated in leather half-flabby armchair, which smelled of oranges of all things, and before him was a polished oak coffee table. Viewing the whole room, he noted that spots like that were common around here, and seatings by the walls had comfortable-looking couches to lie on – which teenagers (that probably **should** be at school, he added) gladly used. Even though it was early, the coffeehouse was full of businessmen on lunch, young mothers who left their children at home, chatting joyously, relief clearly written on their faces. Luckily, none knew him here, and even if, none would believe it was him, not _here_, at least.

He leaned his chin on his hands, and squinted light blue eyes that his sun-tan seemed to bring out lovely, and that he often used against older strict businesswomen to get what he want.

'Charming' they said with a giggle.

'Man whore' his rivals exclaimed. Oh, so _**what**?_

He leaned his chin on his hands, and squinted light blue eyes that his sun-tan seemed to bring out lovely, although in the interior the light was dim and smoky, the air smelled of magnolia incenses and tasted vaguely like cigarettes he tried once because people said (_people said, _that term must have been used in olden times, when earthli-, no, not a good choice of words…) it rid of nervousness, but all he did was feeling like shit afterwards, and, besides, he didn't really see a point in polluting one's own body.

Walls were painted deep vibrating warm bronze, artistic people's who had a habit to come here paintings hang there – some of them were definitely eye-catching, so he decided to purchase them.

'Yes, this place is ideal', he thought, enjoying the taste of a perfect coffee' droplets on his tongue.

**2:55 p.m.**

'Was he ready for this?' a fleeting thought dabbed his mind, and the possibilities started to rotate in a hypnotizing whirl.

_Really, sincerely, genuinely ready?_

**2:58**

Well, possibly not, but she just pushed the door open.

She glanced to browse the café, with small smile plastered on her face while he moved nervously to the edge of the armchair, ready to walk over – despite the sinking feeling in his gut – but she was already _there. _

His heart struggled to get out of his wide chest, and his fingers gripped tightly a leathery material – and magically, his mind – myriads of connected axons and dendrites – suddenly was focused only on the harsh texture of leather under uncountable amount of epithelial receptors.

She grinned and snuggled in chair in front of him, crossing her legs. Her eyes – they were different from the last time they met, somehow, like a pack of bricks had been all of the sudden crushed onto her back, but _yet, _they **were** sparkling merrily, in all their amber brightness. She seemed to be – he tried to find the exact word for a while - …_relieved?_

The feelings he experienced at that very moment were too stormy to comprehend – he was genuinely contented, yet his palms were still sweating slightly, and were warming with every minute. He became apprehensive about picking up the cup, imagining it would surely slip from his fingers, and making a fool of himself would be unavoidable.

'Yes, black coffee, please? And…ummmm….maybe apple-pie with whipped cream, and sprinkled with cinnamon?' She ended eagerly.

'Coming right up, Éclair. But, hey, remember about calories!' the pretty waitress half-seriously scolded her, eyeing her with kind indulgence.

Éclair just laughed nervously in response.

'Geez, I was never good with all those things, you know?' she said conspiringly, sighing.

'…Yes, I can imagine.'

'I should be offended, shouldn't I?' she said teasingly.

And, abruptly, his quiet, furtive confusion and bashfulness was dispelled. Everything was going to be alright, he discovered with growing wave of relief, and he didn't risk appearing as a complete dimwit to her. Not to her.

Because it was Éclair, _for God's sake_.

The tension from his shoulders swam away.

She hadn't really changed, - well, visually, _yes_ – her body, to be exact, but not her spirit, that strong-spirited, perky self that brought rubber to people's dusty closets.

They sat opposite to each other. Each one examining his/her companion and knowing of being examined – she, with a soft smile playing on her lips (was it really there?), and head rolling on a back of the armchair leisurely, and him – glancing secretly over his cup.

It was most reassuring.

'And, straying from our topic, don't you want to meet Lumiére, _too?_'

'Oh, well, yes, that seems like a good idea, but – she wasn't really _there_, and I…' he stumbled, uneasy.

She waved her hand imperiously.

'Yes, yes, I understand-'

**And he knew she did.**

'-and I didn't see her myself today, but if you wanted too, and had time, I am sure you're quite welcome.'

'Here you go!' with a chunk, dishes were laid on the irritatingly gleaming table; with a chunk that made the silence before the silence, not the simple lack of noise. Woman smiled and winked, and Tim gaped.

'Ah, I've been yearning this all day!' she bit into a piece of a cake, enthusiasm clear on her face. Moving a fork to her face, she froze.

'Oh, her.' She said boldly. 'Pay it no mind, it's common, y'know.' And proceeded to eat.

He felt as if no topic would be worth enough – those he wanted to talk about weren't in his place to suggest and those he should – too irrelevant and trivial.

Godly and intoxicating sugar began to renew her storage of energy, and she smiled at him apologetically.

'Sooooo…talk.'

'_Talk?'_

'Yes, talk. Something surely have changed in your life – I mean, Lita always reacts like _that _when she sees someone young and handsome.'

'You think I'm handsome?' he asked incredulously.

'I think you've grown, Tim – you missed the point.' She smiled once more. – 'So please, tell me what happened.' She hummed before returning to her meal.

'I…me…that is…' Has **_he_** just lost his cool? Oh God, the world was going to an end.

A brow furrowed in a voiceless question.

'I decided to inherit clan's business to help restore trust between ex-Nouvlesse and, well, normal people. Well, the fact that _I_ – a mere human – had taken a lead wasn't a detail as well; we had definitely less trouble that others and our money were practically untouchable. Also, I have made some crucial moves, for example helping inhabitants of Aura and such. You should remember this planet.' A quiet insinuation was easily heard in his voice, drifting just below the surface of deep chocolate timbre. She didn't even stir.

'But I think our business doesn't interest you, does it? I made some lifelong friendships there'- he inwardly winced at such use of words – 'and it helped me get through all these years spent there, the snobby atmosphere and dusty manners. If not for Yacht- What is it?' he asked, seeing how she perked up.

'Yacht, you say?'

'Yes, Yacht. And I know you know him. He asked me precisely to send you his regards.' Was he growing annoyed? Was the feeling of hot, unreleased, futile, chained to his soul anger – jealousy?

His pulse quickened, and he begged to whatever the God existing, for it not showing.

'Send him my regards also.' She said musingly, and he found the option cynically amusing.

'Kanoe did too.'

'Kanoe! I'm **sure **she has grown to be a beautiful girl!' She exclaimed, daring him to deny.

'Oh, yes, she has. Not that I paid that much attention to it.'

'Hmmm, so, you had a fling with her?'

'_Fling?_ **_I?_** I don't have _flings_.'

'…'

'Maybe?'

'….'

'Oh, **okay**, so I had.'

She laughed at him outwardly, and he appeared to be indignified.

'But that was certainly long time ago. Both of us decided that carrying it on would be too hard…'

He caught her looking for a moment as if she thought something along the lines of _'geez, people always say so when they want to be diplomatically get out of situation, and in reality they just thought each other sucked'_, and toyed with the possibility of her expressing her thought aloud.

She did.

He smirked, and nodded.

'And…? What else? How's your grandfather, Isaac? Isn't the work hard? Are you alright with that?'

'Grandfather is dead.'

Her mouth formed a shocked 'O', and she covered his palm with her hand.

'I'm-'

'It's nothing. He taught me a few basic things, and that's why I'm still alive.'

'But he lived a full, content life, hasn't he?'

His lips quirked into a smile, his eyes twinkling and there was a dimple in his right cheek that irked her to smooth it tenderly.

'Yes, I guess. That's beside the point, but _how_ he survived such a **vast** amount of time among these people, is stunning alone.'

There was a loud, resonating silence, and he started to wonder whether he shouldn't be so bold with her.

Then, she reached and smoothed that little, tempting dimple, humming.

_He had never talked with anyone so openly before._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** _Right._ I owe it. I don't, and never will. Pft.

**AN: **The usual - thank you all,especially for all the 'update already!' :) Am sorry for not doing it earlier, but it just happened.

Someone told me earlier to update 'Whatsername'- not going to happen. _Ever_. Sorry, but I have other plans.

Usually, I will update faster and better on my LJ, which can be found at my profile.

As for this story, I have _no_idea where it is going. I know how this will end. But the rest...I am not even sure if this is gonna be Tim/Eclair much.

Read and review, and, if it's posiible, enjoy. Lead a happy, healthy life, and become sexy musicians!

_Paragon, chapter 3_

by

Ta-dah!

She stood and absently observed, not minding the wind that hauled her form like a ship during a storm.

Noticed how first there was just a silence, silence like a layer covering, like a canvas protecting earth from cold on lonely nights, full of uncomfortable thoughts. It laid thick, apprehensive and foreboding, and only occasional movement of animals, together with throaty calls of mating, awakened peace. It seemed like a composed landscape, bringing tranquility and capturing time's merciless song. Or rather, it would seem like it if not for that unbearable stench – stench with no genesis, stench that floated in the air and strangled you in a middle of - waiting. Waiting for…what?

A small factory on a hill broke away from that picture perfect. It looked almost homely, save for its box-like characteristic. It was small and ugly, and out of place. The stench covered it like a tune that is stuck in your head and is not able to find a way out. Its windows, though dark, could be clearly seen from the observer's position.

The petite silhouette hugged herself, fingers enveloping thin arm and massaging numbed from the intense wind skin. She let out a sigh. In her eyes, there was a flicker brimming with longing and passion, of awaiting for beauty and wildness.

The dance started. First, in a slowed manner, the windows sluggishly lighted up, as if the dawn was coming.

Then, it happened. No sound. No smell. No taste.

An eruption.

Enormous. Great. Deadly.

It made its way to the sky, polluting it with smoke and fragments of the building. Incandescent, burning, lustful figure illuminating monotonous and constant sky, dancing with the Death.

Then the sound came, as the fire broke away and started whispering through the forest.

Rustling. Laughter. Pacing.

She could feel the heat molting with her skin, making it squirm and weirdly, internally hot.

Does hell, in its overstated and furiously human way, feel like that?

Does insanity look like fire?

She definitely was one for metaphors – but even being one, she could not bring her brilliant mind to form it for Fire and Destruction.

Which one of Seven Deadly Sin was it?

Was it Pride, arrogant and risky, always proving its best?

Or maybe, Avarice? Scooping everything, selfish and egocentric?

Envy – pride-resembling structure, jealous and stinging…?

Sloth…?

Gluttony, never sated, never _jaded_?

Was it Wrath, frenzied, rabid, fanatic passion, untouched by any bonds?

Maybe – Lust?

With inexplicable craving in clear dark-blue eyes, her mouth let out next sigh.

'Isn't it…**isn't **this the _most_ captivating sight…?' She whispered most softly, her genuinely orange bangs lightly caressing her face, protecting her and toying with playful wind.

'Like a-'

'Gosh, I'm so hungry! Let's go back! Food, food, food!' A lithe female skipped happily – practically _bounced -_ by her.

'Oh, _honestly! _We are on a mis-_sion! _Will you **never** learn?' Lumiére chided, turning around and walking away, never once glancing back.

* * *

'A sandwich, maybe?' A distinctly male voice with an unmistakable arrogant smooth quality, asked. 

'No, thank you.'

'No, thanks.'

'Éclair, but you said you were hungry…!'

'Well, yes, but does that require me eating…?'

'Yes? It's kind of logical, even for _you._' Armblast shook his head. _Women. _

'Today is Wednesday.' Lumiére informed him, not bothering to turn.

He gaped.

'Are you on a diet? Not that there is a need for it, _kitten_. The more precious body, the better.' He flashed her a winning smile.

'You seriously need to work on it.' The precious body snapped and smashed her fist on the control desk, and he jumped in his seat.

'I'm **not** on a diet. Do you _ever_ listen to me? I just have a dinner with my son on Wednesdays. I see so little of him now!' She sighed sadly.

'So? Nothing could stop you from eating before.' Éclair flashed him a warning glare, while Lumiére hid a smile delicately.

'Your smooth talk won't win me over. Besides, I need to make sure he will eat. **And** keep him away from Viola and her paws. You know all the small things mothers do!' Lumiére choked and sniggered, Armblast could swear, if he was not utterly horrified and unconvinced.

He put away the sandwiched in his case carefully and stayed calm.

'Right, Lumiére, I wanted to ask you something.'

'Yes…?' She answered politely.

'But the thing is, I forgot!' She seemed to mull over the matter severely for a moment. 'Oh, yes. What was about the mission? I mean, it **did** seem pretty pointless to me.'

'What was wrong with it? _Do not _tell me you didn't like the fire. And, pray tell, why hadn't you listen to Eclipse…?'

'Well, I thought about food, cause I hadn't have time to eat breakfast and couldn't eat later – you know, _the dinner_. Therefore, it's perfectly understandable! _And_, I liked the fire. But to make something explode like that…? Seemed pretty – radical?'

Armblast muttered something about a kettle in background.

Éclair pretended not to notice.

'A virus resided there. Highly dangerous, because it seems to evolve quite fast. It attacks various organs of digestive tract, it would seem.'

Éclair gulped.

'Such an abominable crime! How could anyone do such a _thing_!'

'We cannot be sure that was made by humans. We can only suppose, and consider it as linked with what lately hit the headlines – the homicides on famous – and I guess, the term notorious would be suitable, as well – Nobles in Global-Governments Union. These-' and she gestured at the monitors before her, as if saying that these are the evidence. 'Are just my imagination. What is of interest to me now, though, is why _we _were sent on this mission. For anyo- - well, for anyone with the capability of logical thinking and a bit of psychological sense,' she glanced meaningfully at her partner, who just sat there and listened intently, 'it would be _obvious _to sent even Cesario and Viola there, not us! Of course, there is a possibility that no other member was available, which I just pass over as nonsense.'

'But the virus...?' Armblast asked in wonder. 'What does that virus do? And what is its name?'

She eyed him thoughtfully.

'Well, for a start, the virus is yet to be named. There is no record of such a virus throughout the net, although my actions now can hardly be described as competent. It is lethal, of that we can be sure, and it causes high temperature at first, but then the changes in internal organs occur. What is the most astounding fact, the virus is similar in nucleus to the viruses used in nanomachines. It could evolve through horizontal gene transfer – which is transferring genetic material to alien cell, Éclair -, of course, but then again, humans tried to avoid and invent this for a few generations, so…? In addition, we suppose that it can be dormant for few generations, and then attack or do something with genes by the way, some serious changes, which is horrifying. No specific data has been disclosed. That is why we captured it, and blasted the factory. The fire for sure killed it., even though it's quite inefficient.'

'You know what, Lumiére?' Éclair spoke abruptly, but softly.

'Hmmm?'

'It – It could be used as a plot in these lame horror films. Like that AIDS thing. Quite scary, isn't it?' She whispered uncertainly. Armblast stared at her, sudden weakness entering his eyes, almost or too loving.

'Viruses co evolve with technology, and when we became sure that there is no other civilization in galaxy – although we cannot be sure, still, can we?' He said, anticipating her response, when she opened her mouth to deny. 'But then, we became painfully aware of the fact that our ultimate death will not be caused by some frightening monsters from space, but by-'

'Viruses.' Lumiére announced loudly.

'Well, come to think of it, Nobles never stopped being afraid of the monsters from space.' The blonde whispered, her head resting against the soft leather, her cheek touching the backrest of her chair, and her eyes closing in weariness.

She smiled softly, ironically, when no violently denying response came.

* * *

Éclair stretched her arms when they landed and yawned, feeling the strangely soothing feeling of muscles working overcoming her, flooding and enveloping her skull. She purred in delight and moaned, tilting back her head. 

'Told you not to do that.' Armblast threw in, smiling and departing. 'Have a nice day, girls!'

'You too!' Two voices chorused politely.

'I'll wait outside; you say your goodbyes, okay?' Éclair informed her partner, and when she nodded, got out swiftly.

Lumiére waited for a while, alert, and then turned her full attention to the monitor. Her fingers tried to reach it in longing, in vain. She clenched the fist by her side.

'Oh. It's over for today, you can rest, Wirbelwind.' Her tongue clicked on the sound, cherishing the beautiful sound of the word. Then, she hung her head and spoke, defeated. 'Ten years went by, and I can't still reconcile with it. I can't just forget it. It's as if we were together, then broken up, and decided to be friends, but with no passion left. It's _pathetic_.' She said with no venom in her voice.

'And now – now, even-' She inhaled, and then slowly, most slowly, straightened out her back, till she stood proudly, with her chin stucking out.

'I apologize, it's nothing. No, there's no need to worry,' she told in response to the speedily beeping monitor. 'Really. I'm just not sleeping well lately. You know it happens sometimes. Now now, goodbye, and rest. Sleep well.' She said with the fondest smile, then exited the room.

* * *

'Stop toying with _food!_' A hushed voice exclaimed sharply, betraying annoyance and sulkiness. 

The two of them were seated at extravagantly decorated, not-too-fancy Mexican restaurant, called _Arenoso Sombrero_. It had become a habit for them to attend it occasionally, taking Éclair's cooking skills (or lack thereof) into consideration.

An apparently cheap band played in background, a vocalist singing wild and mischievous songs of love, guns and Tequila with his hoarse from drinking voice. It gave the place a great, smoky atmosphere, in Éclair's opinion, and an appearance of dirt's shebeen, in her son's, although he cherished it all the same.

They've been here for an hour and a half, and while he had finished his deliciously spiky Chiles Renellos, once again resolved to learn and start cooking, Éclair has been slowly driving him mad. Sure, they had had a conversation focused on him and his life, with her, politely and in colorless routine, inquiring about his progress in school. However, by her second dish, she seemed to enter another dimension, by which existence he had been lately immensely fascinated, for she seemed to float. The light from the lamp right above them, a funnily pear-shaped fixture, pulsating steadily, dosed the light descending on her face, giving it a serene resemblance to angel.

He knew better than to believe it. Being her son, and all.

'_Mother?' _He commenced, groaning. 'What's wrong? Can't you tell _me? _Because, you know, I may be 12 years old, but-'

'That makes you two equal intellectually, doesn't it?' Someone drawled out behind his back, and the boy turned quickly, with narrowed eyes scanning the area for the smirking man.

'Hello, Un-ou, you look as conceited and unwelcome as always.' He shot with disinterest and waved his hand in imperious manner. 'You may go.'

'Chevalier, you should not talk that way to older people. And Un-ou, get lost!' The female snapped in a bossy tone, looking up from her plate, distinctly livened up.

'If the lady says so.' He responded sarcastically and strided towards other table. 'Oh, and I pay for your bill, Heroine!' He shouted in their direction, before turning his attention toward his partner, just as Éclair' returned to her plate.

'Sex.'

'**Where?**' Éclair exclaimed, and Chevalier fought the urge to vomit.

'One word: _gross_.'

'I'm sorry, Che. I just have a few things to think about and get them off my chest, and it just that-' _she couldn't possibly tell him that he resembled them... _'It is just that with you I relax entirely, and the thoughts just flood me. But I know what definitely could help!' She added after few moments of pondering.

'Oh, NO! At the rate you keep eating chocolate, you are going to be fat! I don't _want_ a fat mother!'

'Hey!' She argued, looking slightly amused and evidently too insensible to feel hurt at his comment.

'**But**, if you want, I guess we can go. I am paying this time. As long as I get the whole story.'

'You wish!'

* * *

She stepped out of shower, feeling greatly refreshened. Droplets of water lazily flowed down her silky skin, chilling her body and lulling it to sleep. She gave a quiet, unwilling yelp, once her small, feminine and sculpture-like feet touched cold tiles, sending shivers up her spine. She quickly nipped out to her slippers, and moved her hair away her shoulders. New spring of water flew down her back, emphasizing the intensive, sunny orange of her locks, which curled slightly because of the humidity. The room – elegant bathroom, with unbelievably neat fixtures, and silvery colouring, - was warm and humid, and vapour settled on the mirror, giving the room all the favourable settings for murder from the old – almost ancient - movies. 

Lumiére suddenly got the disturbing feeling that creeps up one gets when is alone at home, and doesn't know whether someone – or something? – alien invades the house. Everybody has it, just people who are more adapted to his or her home, and less fearful, feel it seldom and more strongly.

Don't they?

She slowly, regularly inhaled, closed her eyes, and ignored the feeling, blaming it on the lack of sleep and latest stress and frustration caused by her inability to solve the puzzle. Even if she had no driving need for everything to be clear and evident, like her partner, and enjoyed feeling seductive mystery and a bit of fog enveloping the mind as she delved into it, like in a bath with candles and white lilies around. She still tended to be extremely, violently obstinate where it came to the fact she was unable to do something, and her cursed ineptitude showed up like a white flag.

She wiped the mirror with her hand, and looked at her reflection creasing its brows in concentration.

She most definitely will not lose! It won't get the best of her...!

From the very beginning, as she looked at the data, and the surname of the victim, she knew.

No witnesses.

No trace.

Except that poison, and two letters. Initials of the next victim, as it turned out. She, of course, predicted it, as well as probably Mercredi, she suspected, but now wasn't the time to bring her identity into daylight, especially as she couldn't be sure.

She knew that if she asked openly, she would get sufficient answers and more, but that wasn't what she desired. What she desired was an utter capitulation, them laying down their arms and her ambition sated. She saw no difference between her and Nobles, or ruthless historic figures; but they were all great minds, weren't they?

Pushing all other feelings aside, she focused once more on the latest crimes.

That poison. It was – she saw no other word for it – hilarious. It was arsenic, ordinary good old arsenic. Was that chairman a fool? He was a Noble, occupying a seat in Department of Economy, so it should be essential for him to learn constant vigilance by then...

Only two solutions existed, but to her and others there was one too much.

One, it was someone whom the deceased trusted. It narrowed the list of the suspects, for trust was something extraordinary in that world, among the elite, while love was virtually nonexistent. Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy to point perpetrator as in the recent era, for Noble seemed now at ease and much more gullible than then, it was like they wanted to go with the stream. They invested in education, sure, but truth to be told, that education was always something subjective and malleable, and those who didn't want to be taught, simply weren't. _No_, she thought with deep conviction, _Charles Blake was definitely a fool. Nevertheless, was he foolish enough...? Moreover, if he was, who knew this...?_ Was trust these days handed out like daily newspaper? Was it contrived, was it with the victim's consent, was it business...?

Two, it was someone from outside. Offices there were now available for ordinary citizens, but it had to be gained with difficulty and almost superhuman effort. Was it someone from Nobles, who wanted to eliminate potential rival? Was it someone from citizens, who wanted the position for themselves, feeling – and rightfully so –, unjustified? Was it someone from upper sphere, aspiring to that seat, or someone ordinary, some Masked Avenger, whom she absolutely could not preclude, because of the deceased's past and connections?

The second victim – death caused by strangulation, name Catherine d'Eudes, 35 years old – brought no new information, but her hands were as dirty as the previous ones.

She was brought back to mother reality as she unconsciously raked her hair with her fingers delicately, and suddenly noticed that they were almost dry, just a little moist and unruly, and her body was completely dry – and mostly – cold.

It was all hidden now. All behind the veil, she thought, toying with words and horrible associations. For now, she silently promised herself.

She knew what they needed, she concluded. She knew exactly what they needed, from the very first time she saw the photographs of the deceased's body, she just needed to make sure, to not to hesitate, just as she always had with her choices – she always knew what she was going to choose in the end, she just slightly, invisibly, hesitated, till she confirmed herself in it.

She needed a psychological make up of the victims. She needed next initials – G.H. – worked out, which was quite simple.

But, what she needed most was not in her power. For trust for her was as sparingly dosed as complements, and so it was hard for her to admit this need.

What she needed the most now was – simple as that – a mole.

_A mole.

* * *

_

As the two of them walked steadily to Eclipse's office, called earlier for E-shift (it was such a fortunate thing to rouse her from musings about Éclair's weird state of mind – all morning she seemed to be...reflecting...?), she thought how probable it was for the mission to pass to someone else. They were never truly destined to investigate, despite her skills. There was infiltration, but that was entirely other thing to deal with, and with her partner's temper and her cruelty, the change would be welcome. Maybe Tweedledee and her brother...?

She wondered at the infiltration thing. None of them would do. Eclipse simply had to know that. **Especially** them. Éclair became a symbol of GOTT, a peculiar Statue of Liberty, and her arrival would cause much stir in the environment. It would be the worst move possible, she was aware, but her mind painfully clung to the case. It was too much of a temptation, too much of an intellectual challenge.

She was a realist, but she was still a woman – a woman, with a feminine instinct, which crept up, slow and fawning on her, and assured her in her hoping against hope.

As Éclair nudged her side for her to turn, she looked at her studiously. She seemed absent up to now, but now she was as fresh as a daisy.

'What? Am I dirty or something?' She asked with a devious, mischievous yet open quality, which seemed to never leave her, no matter at what situation they found themselves in. She positively blinded her with a maddeningly cheerful smile that just forced Lumiére to smile back, and be happy in her own, specific, human way.

'No, you look just fine.' She answered, little quieter than her partner.

'Éclair, Lumiére, how nice to see you!' An elegant, yet a bit obsolete – maybe not exactly that, but having quite harsh quality that brought to mind antiques, maturity and that specific kindness of old people knowing how to get their way – voice spoke to them.

They sat obediently, and listened to the lecture that seemed to go on for hours, a lecture about instability of contemporary time, a lecture that they were too aware of, yet surrendered to without a word of protest.

Why?

Éclair, because she was ever understanding, and there was always a suitable time to take a nap.

Lumiére, because she was somewhat happy and predicting.

'So, is it clear? You will go right away; there is absolutely no time to waste.'

'What? But – my son! – can you not give us a few hours? _An_ hour?'

'No, not really Éclair, you are requested there as soon as possible, and it's really a vital case. Your friends will take care of him, as always...'

_Even though Nouvlesse are not as influential as before, they still have pretty much money and assassins. The case makes too stir in environment, and we cannot lose the precious dominance. _Eclipse seemed to say in Lumiére head, playing before her like a film, frame after frame.

'Understood?'

'Not really.' Armblast spoke up.

'Yes, what is on your mind?'

'Why us?' He answered simply, straightforwardly. Maybe too straightforwardly, for Chief Executive hid a smile behind her hand, and asked, more Lumiére than him:

'So, you don't want the mission?'

In response, the girl just raised her brows.

'You know it is not it. It's us.' She responded, a bit unnerved.

'You were requested. Specifically. By-' she pretended looking at data, which became unnecessary. It was clear like sky that day. '- a Mr. Constance.'

'Is that so?' Éclair said, her voice hollow, but without a wee bit of surprise.

'Understood?'

'Yes!' Two voices chorused proudly and marched back.

* * *

The ride was uneventful. The rides were pretty uneventful these days in general, to Éclair's grief. She complained any time she saw it possible, and did many weird things out of pure boredom, which to the passengers – Lumiére and Armblast – transformed the ride to pure bliss and hell on Earth. 

But today, the ride was truly uneventful. Her partner was deep in thought, somewhat vexed and apprehensive, and mourning, and hysterical.

To her great astonishment, she saw that her partner was – nervous!

But, even thought Éclair was priority at all times, she focused on the mission.

Even Armblast looked broody and unfocused, and like he really thought better, and looked forward to saying 'I said so!'

The silence reigned.

It was no surprise, that after silence reigned for quite some time, the noise that followed was quite shell shocking.

'Hey, you're already here!'

'_Master!' _

'You may leave, Geoffrey.' Tim, shining with happiness and anticipation, said, not unkindly.

'I thought you may take some time, make some amends, and tell your goodbyes? Not that it's not good; it's very good that you are earlier, fantastic!'

Éclair shot him a dark look.

'So, we were in no hurry?'

'Of course not!'

'Of course we were!'

Tim and Lumiére exclaimed simultaneously, while the man was still shaking her hand politely. She noticed his handshake was firm, yet not obtrusive, and admired the way he grew up. She heard from Éclair about him, but didn't believe in all the things she said – after all, her partner always did exaggerate others' virtues. He was tall, but not taller than Armblast, his shoulders were broad, and his eyes sparkled and his mouth widened greatly upon seeing someone into truly cheerful grin, so the person felt welcome and cherished. The boy truly turned into someone precious, she noted, and smiled slightly at the reckless lock of hair, stealing by his a bit wide forehead.

'I suppose you want to talk business right away?' Armblast asked, unperturbed.

'Um... Not really. Surely, it is an important matter, but I thought you might want to settle in. After all, you will stay here for quite some time. I have a few, may I say, pleasant diversions for you, Lumiére. We can talk after dinner, which is at 18 sharp, can we?' He drawled, with an air of disinterest around him that seemed to challenge the black-haired man. 'I will personally show you the rooms. I hope they'll meet your standards.' He said without a bit of cynism.

Lumiére, shot an already traditional scrutinizing look in the direction of Armblast, before she joined him in the hushed conversation, both of them furtively watching the pair talking animatedly. She looked at their relaxed postures, and the gleam in the male's eyes, and shared a smile with Armblast.

'I have a most excellent bottle of wine. Care to share it with me?' He drawled, mocking the earlier line.

**AN: **So, anyone comment?


End file.
